Don't worry... this rant will just be a minute...

Today was one of those days that just slaps you in the face with the wet, squishy, stinging ignorance of people -- and it left a mark.

As a person with a disability, I spend a LOT of my time being dissed by able-bodied folk on my own turf. Morons who park illegally in the handicapped stalls, even bigger morons who park illegally in the loading zones attached to said handicapped parking stalls, and the vapid, selfish women who feel the wheelchair-accessible cubicle is the ONLY place in the washroom where they can do #2.

Oh, I'm going there. The gloves are off...

Because, today, after I wasn't able to pick up my wine order after thirty full minutes of ignoramuses thwarting me, I had plenty of time to total up how much of my life I have lost (and will lose) because people will "just be a minute."

Example #1: We're driving around a less-than-half-full parking lot and cannot find a place to park.

You see, those "good parking spots" with the biiig, wiiiiide open, yellow or blue diagonally-striped "parking spots" adjacent were not put there for you to sit while waiting for your father/personal chef/husband/child/wife/friend/juggler/TV anchorman. Those striped "spots" are wheelchair loading zones, and without access to them, I CAN'T GET OUT OF MY CAR. In many countries (including this one), the widely recognized symbol for a "No Parking Zone" is diagonal striping.

Now, I'm a fit, healthy(ish) young woman, and don't mind a quick jaunt from the back of the parking lot on a good day (or a push on a bad one), but I do take umbrage when someone parks next to me and completely bars me from getting into or out of my own vehicle, hence the creation of Loading Zones. That same nifty law also created parking spots that bear a glyph that looks a lot like me and my brethren. Check out the family resemblance:

Pretty cool, eh?  I think my hair is a little nicer, but we have the same arms, though my head isn't quite as round.  And blue just washes me out completely.

Anyway, I have chased so many people out of our spots who tried to validate their bad behaviour by explaining, "Well, I'm just going to be a minute."

Not.  Good.  Enough.

You see, by doing this, you are breaking the law.  You are also inconveniencing and hurting me, sucking away valuable minutes of my life.  So, in return, would you find it acceptable if I punched you in the face for "a minute"?  (BTW, "a minute" is an indeterminate measure of time between five and forty-five actual minutes.)  That would be breaking the law, ruining your day, and completely inconveniencing you.  It would also suck majorly, wouldn't it?  But, I don't do that, because I'm not a law-breaking, mean-spirited, ignorant suckhole of a humanoid.

So, to you, Dude in The Parking Lot Who Parked Illegally In The Handicapped Stall Today: Face Punch.  I don't find it chivalrous that you took away my lawful civil rights while you waited for your wife, and no, I don't find being a douchebag a disability.  So, next time, find someplace else to idle your fume-spewing minivan.  Although, I did find it funny when I told you that if you wanted to wait for her, why didn't you park even closer to the front, in the Fire Lane, where you wouldn't inconvenience anyone?  (Unless the building caught fire, but then you'd have bigger problems, I suppose.)  And, with flawless comic timing, you responded by looking at me blankly and saying, "But, I can't park there...that's illegal."

You, sir, are an idiot.

And you also made us late for dinner, which leads me to...

Example #2: I drank a glass of water and a whole pot of tea to myself at the restaurant.  Before we left to go pick up the wine, I excused myself to the ladies'.  The restaurant was mostly empty, and very few were female diners, so I wasn't surprised to find the washroom completely deserted...except for one cubicle.  Mine.

I say mine, but had another girl with a disability been present, it would've been hers.  It's OURS.  It was made for us, so we can get our wheelchairs (walkers, crutches, etc.) in, shut the door behind us, make use of the rails and taller toilets, and do our business like "normal people" get to do.  It was even made so that people with difficulties getting up and down can make use of the same amenities.  Without us, and our struggles, it wouldn't exist.  Period.  It was NOT made so that you can go into "the big stall" and feel special while going #2.  Sorry.  If you want a special Poopie Room, call your MP, Congressman, or Senator and complain.

Because, sister, I really don't want to sit there for TWENTY FREAKIN' MINUTES listening to your...well... ugh... sounds!

Naturally, she was perfectly able-bodied, and said as much to me, but just wanted, "privacy."

THEN DON'T GO OUT IN PUBLIC!

Or, better yet, go rent a whoooooole hotel room, just so you can make a doody.

Incidentally, it's also not your personal changing room, the stall for you to go chat with your BFF and swap wrap dresses, nor the place to do your icky drugs.

In conclusion, because of her bowel issues and total lack of human civility, I missed getting to the wine place to pick up my order.  I'm not pleased.  Maybe next time I just shouldn't eat.  Or wear a diaper under my Wolford tights.

I could go on with my frustrated PSA, but I promised a mathematical summary of how many days and weeks of my life I will never get back thanks to these individuals.  Assuming Pi * r (squared) and A(squared) + B(squared) = C(squared), and I lose (on average) thirty minutes each time I leave the house, and I do so at least five times a week, then the magic number is....[drumroll]...

5.42 days per year

So, given that I've been in a wheelchair since 1994, I've already lost about 53 days off my life.  Now, let's be optimistic and say that I'm going to live to a ripe-old age of 80 (though, what with the added stress of these morons, is highly unlikely)... that means another 271 days gone, for no darned good reason.

All total, we're talking about 324 days -- almost one full year -- of my life squandered by able-bodied people in space rightfully created for the disabled community through hard work, legislation, marches, protests, and lawsuits.  And that's a conservative calculation.  Essentially, I'm going to lose at least a year off my life because of Pooping Lady and Parking Lot Douche.

Thanks to both of them for "just being a minute."

More Christian Louboutin...

Yes, Ladies... it's all about Sole Searching in 2010. Many designers are getting to the soul of the matter and colouring up to make their mark in 2010. My silver Betsey Johnson's have her trademark bright pink, printed soles, along with a cute medallion on the rise. I love Betsey's whimsical designs, and always smile quietly when I see a fellow girl with adorable kicks and flashing a hot pink sole. My most recent acquisition is a pair of Dolce & Gabbana pumps with leopard-print soles. The red, patent leather shoes make a statement on their own, but when I pick up one leg and cross it over the other, I love that I have that zesty hint of leopard print underneath. I don't care if no one ever sees it -- I know it's there, and knowing that my soles are as fun as the shoes themselves gives me an extra boost of feistiness. So, are the Red Soles worth the price? To me, yeah. To everyone? No way. I do think that colouring the soles of shoes will catch on as a trend, but eventually the novelty will wear off, and Payless Blue-Grey will be as prevalent as Sears Greenish, or Joe Fresh Aubergine. I already found one store in Toronto's Eaton Centre that was selling zebra-print shoes with reddish/maroonish soles for $19.95. The pumps were cute enough, but when you add in the knock-off bottoms, I just couldn't do it. I mean, my wheelchair is the colour it is for a reason: the frame is Louboutin Red. And, unlike many busy career women, I won't wear the red -- or pink, or leopard -- off my delicious shoes. I love that the ones I have are awesomely fun and decorated, but I'm anticipating that it'll get harder in the near future to differentiate between D&G Leopard and JC Penney Wild Boar bottoms. Unfortunately, those ADORABLE Barbie by David Dixon shoes may have hot, HOT pink soles, but I can guarantee there will be a zillion knock-offs in Chinatown in no time. Touché. At least we'll all be cute from head to toe.

Like any other average, run of the mill Princess, I need a snazzy ride.  A car that's cool, fun, and looks good as I roll out of it.  Since Green is the new Black, I naturally also need the most fuel efficient, socially responsible model on the block.  These factors, and price, are what drove me to buy a 2006 Scion xB with the Rampvan wheelchair modification by Braun Ability.

Unfortunately, the only reliable driving that car can do is to drive me completely insane.

Here's a little history for you:

Originally, I purchased a 2005 Scion xB Rampvan, brand-spanking new.  It had to be special ordered, and when I got it, she was a gleaming, deep sapphire jewel of automotive genius.  At one time, we seated folk thought we were relegated to hideous, oversized, gas-guzzling minivan monstrosities with inflated price tags.  But, lo!  Here was a fully-automatic, ramped out, wheelchair accessible Chariot of Hotness that costed half as much as the vile Mom Mobiles that peppered the sales lot, and was more than twice as fuel efficient.  It seemed too good to be true... which, little did I know, it was.

I signed some papers and took my new baby home, proud as any new momma would be.  The first thing I did was hop on all the Scion forums and boast about my awesomely modded beastie.  All the car guys (with their turbo chargers and ginormous speakers) oohed and ahhed over my kneeling air suspension and automatic ramp and rear gate.  Even though it was for mobility, the one thing that's respected in the Scion community is a hot mod.

I was happy as a clam...that is, until a hose broke.

You see, the rear end of the car is held aloft by airbags that are filled with a compressor that keeps them at a safe ride height until the car is told to kneel.  Now, in an ideal situation, the car only lowers when I push my neat little button.  The rear gently kneels to make it easier to get into, the rear hatch opens up, and a ramp folds out automatically.  However, should the compressor fail, or the hoses break, the air bleeds out and the butt of the car promptly drops onto the gas tank, which was moved and mounted under the car.  It's a fabulous concept in theory, and when it works, it's fantastic, except that it rarely works correctly, and at all other times it's an outright deathtrap.

Not a really great situation to be in at 100 km/h.

So, a hose blew, and my car's butt abruptly hit the ground and scraped.  I panicked, but took it in and had it fixed in short order.  All was well in my Kingdom...until another hose blew and the compressor died.  Another tow to the dealership, another loaner van, and more time taken out of my day.  By now, I was sensing a pattern, but I was locked into a contract and was paying on a lump of a car I rarely had in my own possession.

And when I got it back, the nightmare didn't end.

Four more times it failed, even after they installed steel braided hoses in place of the soft rubber ones (as an aside: would YOU trust a ton of metal and high speeds to a wee, soft, rubber hose?!  I'm just saying...), the compressor kept dying.  Finally, after many heated discussions, Mr. Rick N. at Braun agreed to replace the car with a new one under the Lemon Law.  Well, it's not like he had a lot of choice, as it is a LAW, but anyway...

That's how I ended up with a 2006 Braun Scion xB Rampvan.

Unfortunately, this car didn't die all at once like the last one, but it's still just as dangerous.  I've had it for about three years and have now killed six compressors, I believe, including the one that just died this morning.  Even though I have an extended warranty on the mods, they find ways of not covering important parts of the modifications, meaning I paid a lot of money for something absolutely useless.  (It's by Warrantech -- anyone know anything about them?)  I'm tired of worrying if the compressor is going to fail and kill me and/or other innocent people, tired of spending extra money to repair something that shouldn't be broken, tired of shouldering a burden that Mr. Rick N. from Braun assured me would be completely absent from this particular model, and in short, I'm tired.

If I haven't gotten a call back from Braun by 4 PM, I may go ballistic.

And it's not like I'm the only one who has this problem.  The About.com article on the xB Rampvan has a few interesting comments at the bottom:

I'm wondering how many other people are having the same problem, and if we're all having the same safety concern, why hasn't Braun recalled the vehicle, or at least the air suspension?!  This is prime lawsuit fodder, and to ignore it seems reckless to me.  Is it because we're all just a bunch of gimps and don't really matter?  Is it because people think we're weak as a community?  Do they think that we'll get tired of fighting and just give up?

Well, if that is the case, they apparently have never dealt with a Princess, because this Princess wants the pumpkin turned back into a befitting coach...

Else I'm going to start making a whoooole lotta pumpkin pie... and eat them for breakfast.

*EPIC FREAKING FAIL!*

(Sorry for the car rant...I'll be back to my regularly scheduled SUPER FAB fashion blogging tomorrow...promise.)

Now, I know this doesn't apply to 99% of women out there, so this time I'm speaking directly to my wheeled sisters.  The more and more I see of the emerging trends for Spring 2010, the more disheartened I get, especially when it comes to one design element specifically:  pockets.

Now, for all of you ladies who have never been in a chair, let me explain something about bulk.  The more bulk you have around your waist and hips, the fatter you look and the more uncomfortable you are.  That being said, now imagine adding all the extra fabric of pockets to say, oh, I don't know, a voluminous evening gown.  Kinda like this otherwise-GORGEOUS dress by Romona Keveza:

I mean, the dress is stunning, no two ways around it.  And the higher cut in the front may even be less likely to catch in those pesky front casters, but..I just can't get past the pockets.  Let's look at it from both angles.

1. If you're on wheels, that extra fabric of the pockets is going to be utterly annoying and bulky.  Oh, yeah, and completely freakin' useless, since you really can't put anything in them.
2. if you're not on wheels and standing elegantly like this model, and you can afford this dress, methinks you would also be able to afford an evening bag.  You know, something chic, elegant, and slightly less bizarre than keeping your lipstick, beef jerky, cell phone, tampons, compact, mints, mace, and coat check ticket jangling around in your taffeta pockets all night.  Something that would serve as an accessory, rather than filling the front of your frock with enough junk to make your dance partner wonder if you born Justin or Justine.  So, I guess that would also render these completely freakin' useless.

But, this kind of pocket is the least of my worries.  What really make me scratch my head in wonder (and regurgitate my dinner in nausea) is what I'm delicately naming, "Feedbag Hips."  It's very simple, really...go to your nearest horse farm, find a nice old mare, and affix her feedbag to one of your hips.  Or, for twice the animal adoration, put one on either hip.  Voila!  Double the oats and twice the equine attention!  I have several questions and/or concerns about this trend.  For starters, let's assume you've just acquired a dress with a feedbag on either hip.  Congratulations!  You now look like you have the widest, boxiest hips on the block!  Take that neighbourhood women!  You win the Ugly Prize.

Or, perhaps you're more avant garde than that, and you selected a single feedbag ensemble, like this Jason Meyers piece:

...you now look crooked and ridiculous, as oppose to just ridiculous.  Congratulations!  You win the Weirdo Prize!  On the upside, you can totally smuggle an entire four-course meal into the movie theatre.  Take that high popcorn prices!  Not to mention I have no idea how this model would even sit down in it, so, naturally, it's pretty much out of the question for us.  What's really sad is that, aside from tollbooth bucket she has strapped to one hip, it's a beautiful dress.  Meyers created a number that has great lines, an awesome cut, and is classically elegant.  Oh yeah, but then there's the Cone of Failure.  Oh, well.  Can't win 'em all.

But if you do happen to 'win 'em all,' at least you'd have somewhere to stash the chips until you cash out.

Additional Credits: Sordesco Photography, all photos